"rosebushes" poems
Heavy-chested, I try to release emotions,
The moon shakes its head in dismay,
Seasons unwinding, heartache in slow-motion,
And in weather hides words I can't say.
In the thick sincere compliments
Concerns flail, attempt to get out,
Bang on barriers, will not budge,
'Life consumed, hopeless doubt.
Mind enveloped in fear,
Shackled by trusting nature,
Wings clipped, self-made prisoner,
I wonder if you sense restraints stir.
Certain only one choice allowed,
A crowd of disapproving eyes stare,
Maybe stars can take me far from this place,
They twinkle, dreams in night air.
Want to shine with a similar light,
Ugly areas stand in protest,
Hold back the glow, I seem dimmer,
Searching for a spot to rest.
Weakness planted in crevices,
Rosebushes bearing thorns blooming,
Learning to love myself even when no one else does,
I'm hard to be with, I am only human.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
This is the place
Where one afternoon
I'll dance by the rosebushes
But be bleeding and bruised
Darling, my thoughts would break you
This heart is like a black hole
Pieces of you are everywhere
As the darkness unfolds
Here is a day you begged to never come
I'm melting then freezing
Melting then freezing
Its raw, its icy
But hot on your breath
This creation of god
Motions to the devil
So keep me where the light is
This storm that you call personality
Always changes
Calm to ill
My nerves are aching
Pulsating
Calm to ill
So promise me
If you decide to go before I wake
You'll leave the light on
If not at some point
I will succumb for my own sake
We can't downplay the dreary days
I've lost myself completely
But to keep going
I just need to remember my name
So could you whisper it sweetly?
As far as the unsaid goes
Were you scared
Or trying to spare me?
Be truthful now
I can't afford to sink into your gravity
This is a permanent winter
The entire home is asleep but me
They long ago committed
To the heaviness of rosy dreams
I fall victim to insomnia
As my pillow is untouched
They tell me I pose my ruins well
As the next morning
I still have a clutch
I'll never be a champion
So paint my hands gold
Like a weak little bird in a man's hands
I yearn to delicately unfold
I think that I'm finally catching my breath
But its not my air
Its yours
Tell me how to power through
Because my nails are deep in the flesh of desperation
And we mustn't forget
Its only skin
There's no leeway for hesitation.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Part I
Where flowers grow and sway
And where dew kisses their satin cheeks
Tall trees provide shade in the hot summertime
And breezes rustle the forest leaves.
Stars twinkle and wink at Night
Happily so merry and gay
And the Moon watches happily o'er
This beautiful enchanted place.
Coblestones provide such a lovely walkway
Leading to the pretty cottage
Where tall rosebushes climb
The trellis where at Night their buds unfurl.
Such beauty that ONLY Jesus can create
And as I stand here gazing at the beauty of Nature
I think of the Holy Creator Who made this whole world
And I think of how Jesus smiles while looking at His creation.
~Marian~
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
i started seeing the stars brighter when you left. started seeing myself
brighter. before, all i could see was
y o u .
i could barely see myself. my soul was starving and my heart worn,
falling into bed every night without taking time to change the sheets.
i hate to admit it, but i think i forgot how to be myself once i had you.
maybe it was the timing, and maybe i was just divided—my feet in
two doorways, leaving one place and entering another. i was stuck
in the hallway with starch-white walls and no light. and i ignored
it because i could, because i had you to distract me. but now i can’t
avoid it. i look at my life now and see it as cold, hard clay, aching
for my hands to turn it into something beautiful, something with
meaning. everything is falling, and i’m surrounded by empty water,
but i feel like i’m being reborn. i forgot how to look at the world
through my rose-colored glasses; lost them in my mother’s house
and settled for grey. that isn’t me. maybe i was too crowded by
rosebushes smothering me from seeing any sort of sunlight, but now
the soil is clear and all i can do is let the sun touch me until i turn into
something just as beautiful alone.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
Someone once told me that I was "for keeps". I've never been a fan of any type of label, but I've wondered how he had shelved me in two words.
I've sought out its meaning. Maybe it was the same as how he was always proud of his vintage toy collection. I was there for his quartlery dose of nostalgia. The novelty of us was something that made him grin.
It could be how another liked to treasure letters from lovers past. Only to flood himself in regret. The names and faces garbled in the salt water.
I learned it was not the same as how my neighbour cut the thorns of the rosebushes, and left the buds for him to adore. He always kept the scissors by his bedside.
The only things I have managed to keep are my pinky promises, my drafts from two years ago, and my used bandaids. It's embarassing to recount how unmade, unfinished, and uncertain I've been.
But if I were to love you, I will not tell you you are worth keeping. Holding you would be selfish to the universe. I cannot possess your thoughts and your soul, your charm will pour itself from my grandmother's china. Pictures will not be taken. Maybe just one, to show my friends the uncanny resemblance you share with my favorite poet. I will unknowingly breathe you in, only to heave heavy sighs into your mouth.
We will thrive among white lies and speak about tomorrows with fistfuls of hourglass sand in our pockets. We will borrow light and pay in forms of miles we need to walk.
I have never wanted to be called a keeper, nor have I ever wanted to keep. The world can only afford to lend beautiful pieces of itself.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
in your backyard, a summer evening, daylight dropping low behind clouds and trees on the horizon, and light from the kitchen window illuminating a slanted square of freshly cut lawn. you and i, we drew as far back from your house with your parents and the rest of the world as we could, hidden in the far corners where we couldn’t be seen, leaning against the fence and smoking cigarettes amongst your mum’s rosebushes. this is where we liked it. this is where we filled fancy glasses and sipped stolen champagne - or you sipped and i quietly poured most of it into the garden, wondering how much wine it would take before it started killing the plants - and contemplated what we’d do with the rest of our days.
i had some ideas, and they all included you.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
I am a garden
oh, I feel sunlight
warmth in your smile
flowers are blooming.
what I cannot quite figure out,
sometimes,
am I the gardener
do I tend to myself?
or do I allow others
to plant seeds in me,
nourish me,
help me grow?
am I a community garden
to share with this world?
to trust my rosebushes
my sunflowers
and daffodils
to a world of genocide?
how can I?
I guess I’ll just choose
A white picket fence
open to only those
whose eyes crinkle
when they smile
sunshine
slipping through the cracks
open to those
whose words
so delicately plant
seeds of hope.
I’ll nourish them,
and tend to
this community garden.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
i am from a pile of gluten-free pancake mix in the pantry
from a bowl of bananas that are always rotten and a drawer of pens that is never opened.
i am from the patchwork house in the middle of the street that never feels empty of anything.
i am from the rosebushes
the tree at the end of the street whose long gone limbs i remember as if they were my own.
i’m from blonde hair and adopted siblings.
i’m from introverts and lovers of books
and from driving around the country every summer because plane tickets are too expensive.
i’m from the Easter bunny and Santa Claus
and “say sorry to your brother.”
i’m from stir fry on Sundays.
i’m from Omaha and all over Europe
and potato soup and homemade bread.
from the time my brother fell down the stairs and hit his head on the wall.
from the quilt my grandmother began that now lies incomplete in a trunk in the back of the attic.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
this is worse than i thought it would be.this is harder than i thought.
i ******* know i should accept myself but its hard not to believe im broken
when the only model for happiness includes no room for me,
i don't want to be selfish.
sorry for forcing myself into a life never made for me.
i understand you don't care when i find it hard to breathe.
im choking to death and you just want me to hold your hand
while you breathe into a paper bag.
i'm not your friend, im your comfort object.
i want you to care that im in pain.you told me you love me.
you told me im too good to be true.
you like me the same way you like your coffee: sugared;
drowned in milk so you dont taste the bitter.
:it all feels so one-sided: you said,
**:i tell you everything.why dont you ever tell me anything:
:i want to help you:
:like you help me, i feel so useless:**
i cried and you pretended you didnt see.
you are a sorry excuse for a friend.you are selfish.if i told you i feel like im dissolving
youd ask if this means i love you.
youre corrosive.youre sulfuric acid and i never should have let you inside of me.
god ******* dammit.im tired of writing about you.you make me feel unlovable and broken.
there are bones in the backyard of my childhood home.
there are eight rosebushes to choose from and i grew up
scratching myself ****** on the branches.
you like to disembowel anyone who makes me feel loved and when i try to fix myself you ask
why im abandoning you.
its always the same ******* thing.
its always the same thing.you're always crying and im always biting my cheek.
im always lonely and youre always kissing my neck.
its always the same.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Lilies mean I dare you to love me.
When you slipped out of your white dress, I saw a pool of petals around your ankles. You kicked them with a smile. It must have been cold, because you walked into my arms and whispered “Color me”.
And I did. With kisses that came and went, a flash-flood of hands over your skin. With the scent of wild summer nights that we spent chasing our paper boats along the stream.
We tripped over fallen logs who must have been lovers who had forgotten to breathe, because beauty is a drug and love is just as poisonous as ozone. I wound my toes around yours, and we lay on rosebushes. I watched you stitch your fingers into mine, and to color the thread of thorns, I chewed the inside of my cheek.
By the end of summer, you were turning purple and I had already gone gray.
Lilies mean I dare you to love me. Which flowers will dare you to stay?
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
what is there to cling, clinging to the woven threads
in my nightmarish dreams, those dreams scattered
into the rosebushes and gushing ponds
they are set ablaze, and not even the scent can mask
the terrifying gaze, and the pond ices over
so that knuckles crackle where water stood before
so I set down in a downward spiral, into a massive hole
set under the ***** of my feet, I cling onto the fabrics
of this nightmarish dream, hoping that its reality
can unfold before, I say, before the ground gives away
and I'm ****** into this bottomless pit
Then with a shout I scramble, hair flying like double
shiny and marvelous, flowing and luscious
so that each glint from the fiery gaze sets wonder
and my knees rattle like the most terrifying thunder
yet into the inexplicable yonder, they propel me with
their creaking joints, like gravel's laughter
and with that laughter my feet find ground
and with that laughter light erupts with a dash
crackling and sizzling, beaming and booming
across the oily black sky of my nightmarish dream
yet here, this light was of a marvelous light
like the gush of courage and a momentous dosage
pushing and pulling of the sweetest melody
in my own vast, vast night sky
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:49 PM UTC
she
swallowed all
the lilies in my
garden. then
descended
upon my
rosebushes
and delighted
in the fact
that they
resembled
her.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
in your backyard, a summer evening, daylight dropping low behind clouds and trees on the horizon, and light from the kitchen window illuminating a slanted square of freshly cut lawn. you and i, we drew as far back from your house with your parents and the rest of the world as we could, hidden in the far corners where we couldn’t be seen, leaning against the fence and smoking cigarettes amongst your mum’s rosebushes. this is where we liked it. this is where we filled fancy glasses and sipped stolen champagne - or you sipped and i quietly poured most of it into the garden, wondering how much wine it would take before it started killing the plants - and contemplated what we’d do with the rest of our days.
i had some ideas, and they all included you.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
**** they may as well have started holding hands
And making paper dolls together,
The way they carried on
Back in the neighborhood after push came to shove,
Like none of it ever happened:
All the times they spit on us,
The constant **** and ******* and goya,
The ass-kickings if we went one alley too far.
Peace didn’t last; hell, it couldn’t
It’s just the way things have to be, man.
If I ever got in front of some parole board
(Not that I’ll ever have that chance,
As I ain’t goin’ anywhere unless they send me
To Auburn or Attica for some change of pace)
This is what I’d tell ‘em:
You come home to your nice house
In your tidy little sub-development
After a day at Corning or IBM,
And you find out that some punk
Has ******* one of your daughters
And stuck a shiv into her quarterback boyfriend,
What are you gonna do if you find him
Hiding in one of your neighbor’s rosebushes?
Exactly. Save the taxpayers the expense of a trial.
Musta been a year, maybe eighteen months ago,
This bunch of goody-goody types,
All social workers and sweet boys,
Show up here to put on some **** play
Where this guy’s uncle kills his dad
And starts puttin’ the blocks to his mom,
And for hours it’s nothing but yak, yak, yak.
And I’m thinking Man, could you just ice the guy, already.
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen ‘Nardo’s ghost
(Let alone that ****** Polack’s one)
But if he ever shows,
It ain’t gonna be to accuse me of nothin’;
No, he’d smile and shake my hand,
Because I did what the code said you gotta do.
Just what the code said.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC